The Lost Chapters in a City of Sin
by TyrantxKing
Summary: A crime-drama that takes place in a city with no particular name; it's a cesspool of sin and filth that's about to boil over! Crime, drugs, prejudice and gang violence... An urban metropolis is about to be shook to the core of its foundation over a street war for power and control!
1. Chapter 1

Chapter ?: Dangerous Partners

Everybody's Got An Angle

Kenny sat in the passenger seat of his own car, reclined all the way into the back. He wearily rolled his shoulders before folding both arms behind his head and just stared at the roof. He listened to his heart, it was beating much more calmly than just moments ago before he parked and switched sides. He propped his right leg up on the dashboard, inhaled deeply until his chest expanded then slowly released it through his slightly parted lips.

The handle on the driver's side door was tampered with, it opened allowing the many different noises of the outside to pour in until somebody sat down and pulled it shut, adjusting himself behind the steering wheel. "You good son?" The familiar voice asked.

Tim adjusted the side and rearview mirrors as well as the seat before reached for the ignition and found the key already in place. He gave it a soft twist and sank into the leather cushioning of the car seat as the vehicle came to life with a gentle purr. He grinned, nodded in his head in approval. "Aight, I see you getting some work done. Shit is nice." Tim shifted the automatic gear from park to drive and drove away.

They left behind them a seemingly abandoned warehouse in what could be considered one of the worst parts of the city. It was a lone, crumbling, desolate area that was left to decay after the Great Depression so far long ago. The warehouse lot had become inhabited by the homeless, drugs addicts, gangs and it wasn't uncommon for a few half-buried dead bodies to be found. It was a section the city wished they could all forget, but it stunk too bad for anybody to do anything but ignore it. Its old, decaying buildings had hosted everything from weapon smuggling to human trafficking, illegal immigration, gang executions and as of late… drug operations.

The black BMW sped onto the main scene of traffic, losing its distinguish amongst the many other vehicles. The two inside of it, Tim and Kenny were lieutenants of the drug kingpin, Frank Benecio. They were in charge of city's street operations and receiving in bound shipments from overseas. These two were the face of the kingpin's organization; he was rarely seen.

Tim sucked on his teeth and glanced to the side at Kenny with a risen eyebrow. "We good… or what?" He looked over the detachable, digital video player, shifting through the music he knew to be loaded until an album of his own heart was found. "You know I gotta fuck with my man Biggie." Tim commented and found Life After Death, his choice of driving music for the pre-dawn hours of the morning. Again, he shot a look at Kenny still waiting for a response, but didn't verbally press.

"…yup, it's going to happen." Kenny uttered dryly, rolling his dark eyes to the side and nodding to his partner. "The Queen's in. We've got all the pieces so all we need to do is put them in place," and at the mentioning of this Queen, he closed his eyes and saw the face of a young woman flash through his mind almost hauntingly. He breathed out a sigh and continued. "She knew about your side arrangements, apparently we got a snitch in our camp but then again she isn't too concerned with it as long as it's not interfering with whatever she has going on behind her husband's back. It just gives her something to hold against us should this unsteady alliance of ours fall through…"

Driving the car, listening to music, listening to Kenny and thinking about what he said… Tim was quiet for a moment. He watched the lights of the street lamps overhead flash by one after another, the other cars on the street and the scenery that changed from the warehouse district to the familiar settings of the city's Southside.

"Mm-hmm, you fucking her… so you trust her?" It irked him to even think that woman was thinking she had him by the balls. He'd just as quickly lace some of her coke with battery rust and watch her snort herself into a vegetative state. Instead he'd let the man that had been his brother-in-arms since their hoodlum days in high school and early college make that decision.

Kenny grunted, lifted his seat and pulled his leg down so he was positioned upright and opened the glove compartment, retrieving his nickel-plated M1911A1. He had a special bullet reserved for her the chamber; it was the one that had been pulled out of his left shoulder after he took a bullet for her years back when she'd taken some of his product for her own personal use… Back before she married Frank, the man who shot him as a punishment. "No. I'm fucking her so we can so we don't end up in the harbor… and 'cause it'll make killing her that much more sweeter." He protected the scar of her betrayal so it'd be raw when he took his revenge.

"Aight, aight!" Tim stroked his chin, grinning in an amused manner. "I thought you might've loved her still," he teased, knowing he was touching a nerve that was always irritated. "Survival means you're playing an angle; no real nigga is gone be content eating scraps from the hand of another motherfucker. Let's do what we got to do and take this shit for ourselves! Frank's gotten comfortable, lazy… ignorant. We ain't his fucking kids, he ain't gone leave a drug empire for us when he die… we're just two niggas he took off the streets to do his dirty work for him." Tim's temper swayed toward the worse, his voice deepening with anger and agitation. He wanted more for himself, his son and daughter… his lady. "Let's dead this nigga and do this shit right!" He strongly insisted.

Hours earlier…

"Don't act stupid; it's unbecoming of you, Ken… Everybody is playing an angle to get a piece of the action, but eventually somebody will want all of it!" Becki was sprawled out across the bed, naked save for the red bed sheets that wrapped her shapely figure. She breathed in the soothing scent of flavored candles and the musk of her sexual exploitations with her ex-boyfriend, now her husband's lieutenant… and also her lieutenant. She crawled to the edge of the bed, reached out with her thin right arm and snatched up his gun from the nightstand. Becki eyed it momentarily and then decided to slide out of bed, bare feet carrying her across the marble floor to Kenny.

Inside of the luxurious master bathroom, Kenny was pulling himself together after tearing Becki apart. He stood bare-chested in front of the mirror, a wash cloth on his left shoulder covering the scar left by his gun shot wound. He inspected himself… while listening to the reasoning of the queen. His hands rest on the countertop, balled in fists as he leaned forward and thought about what she was suggesting. "He's the only person I trust," Kenny protested and shook his head… he briefly saw a faded reflection of his partner in the mirror which enforced his resolve to avoid being involved in Becki's own agenda. "Rebecca…" He felt her eyes on from him the doorway.

"Don't call me that!" She sneered at him, aiming the gun in her hands at him and mockingly shooting him by saying bang. "You know I have enough evidence to show Frank that Tim's betrayed him and is attempting to stage this little coup de tat? I can shut it all down in the blink of an eye," her voice took a more serious tone as he stepped lightly in her approach, laying her hands on he ex's chest as he turned toward her. "Then what? Of course, you'd be next… if hubby didn't just decide to bury you both together. I'm sure you'd both look good in matching suits." She amused herself greatly.

"I'd kill you… -" Kenny began to argue.

"No you wouldn't!" Becki exclaimed, licking her lips as she slowly inched away from his half naked form after placing the gun down on the countertop behind him. She flashed her nude body before him, laughing, and leaning against the edge of the Jacuzzi. "Because then you'd be all alone… and I know you haven't quite broken that phobia, yet. So stop acting like you don't need me and use your damn head, Ken! There can't be two kingpins, let alone THREE! He has the power right now and the two of you want it… so take it, then kill Diggs before he decides to kill you for full control. After that, it'll be us, boo. Perfection. It'll all be ours," she assured him, beckoning him to come forth with her nude form and seductive gestures of the hand.

Kenny took possession of his tailored handgun, eyes torn between it and his ex… the two having a strong connection. "Maybe I'll just give it to Tim and find something else out in the world," he suggested, truly pondering the prospect of leaving behind his life of crime and this city drowning in sin. Kenny grit his teeth, sucked in a deep breath and forced himself to step out of the bathroom, tucking the gun in the back of his black jeans.

The queen broke into a fit of laughter, tagging behind her ex whom appeared to be delusional about his life. She concealed herself properly, tucking in the ends of the wrapped sheet so she move her hands freely. "Oh? You're still looking for redemption from that skank that came before me? Hahaha! You're little high school sweetheart who left you after graduation for a plain, boring legit lifestyle. I heard she was engaged… living well, quite educated. Now why would she give that all up for you now… when she didn't want you back then?" Becki lit a cigarette and pinched it between her lips, lighting it and sucking in on highly addictive source of nicotine. "Look at what the fuck is around you, what you've been doing with your life, Ken."

Even in Kenny's own mind the truth was undeniable, the queen knew him too well to not prey on his few weaknesses. He loved her so much before the almost middle-aged Frank came to the conclusion she was the wife he wanted, and shot Kenny with his own gun that was a gift from Frank to humiliate him.

"I'll inform you when we're making our move…"

Next Chapter: Assembling A Team


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter ?: Assembling A Team

"It's beautiful from up here…" He wrapped his fingers around the cold, metal bar of the safety rail, leaning forward and placing the weight of his body on it. He rose to the tip of his toes, seemingly tilting himself over the threshold of the guard rail to glance upon the enchanting beauty of the metropolis lit underneath the night sky; its skyscrapers were towers with hundreds of sparkling bulbs. The streets down below looked like some sophisticated circuitry of the future; thousands of moving, flickering lights going to and fro in their simple patterns and the people out walking on the light-chilled evening all looked like insects.

"It's no wonder Frank feels so secure; from this high up it's impossible to perceive anything as a threat. Well, we'll make that one mistake he never lives to regret." The tall, muscular frame of Tim emerged, though at first a silhouette until stepping out into the pale glow of the moon. He glanced upward with ambition in his eyes… looking to the stars as if they'd offer some answer to questions yet to be asked. He slowly stepped beside the guard rail, let his gaze casually wander over the sight down below, though he found it less interesting than his fellow lieutenant. In the corner of his eye he caught Kenny's nod of acknowledgement. "They're all here. Let's see how many of them are actually ready for what we're about to undergo," Tim stated, lips shaping into a smirk, he'd flicked his thumb across the tip of his nose as he turned to go back inside of the hotel room.

The lavish interior of the luxurious hotel room offered a mini bar with a variety of drinks from domestic to exotic, its five stools were all seated by the people Tim and Kenny had individually invited to this gathering. One person was behind the bar dedicated to mixing and serving whilst helping himself. Two large sofas were placed in front of a sixty inch LED HDTV with a Xbox 360; the occupants welcomed themselves to the entertainment provided by their hospitable hosts. It was loud, reeked of alcohol and marijuana… yet, the partiers were chosen to play a game of the highest stakes where their lives would pay the penalty of failure or even success.

Tim with his somewhat bulky physique stepped in front of the sixty inch screen, arms folded against his chest. "Let's get to business," he announced to the gathering of folks. He purposely glared at the two men currently contesting in a heated match of Super Street Fighter IV; his body blocking their view and interrupting what one described as a: Focus Attack-Dash-Cancel-Ultra. "Shut up, kill yourself…" The male commented with total disregard for the fighting game. "This is only going to be explained once so listen carefully 'cause I'm sure there's going to be a bitch nigga or two in here who won't want nothing to do with what's about to go down."

"We're assembling a team," Kenny spoke up where Tim's voice fell, he walked past his partner, his black eyes touching along every face in the room, recognizing most while a few were left for Tim to fill in. This was a combination of both of their street cliques. "…with special privileges" His right hand slid along his waist until his holstered weapon was felt and he drew the customized .45. "Over the years Tim and I have had our own individual street teams to run operations for us. Tonight marks the first time you've all been brought together." He briefly paused, holding the firearm alongside his head while contemplating his words, still browsing over the collection of faces. He had thoughts racing through his mind at a thousand miles an hour, it was difficult to find the right one to stick with.

"We're going to revolt and kill the Kingpin!" Tim blurted out, too impatient. He didn't like the suspense that was building up and couldn't give a damn how it was put out there; they just needed to know that one simple fact.

A sudden and unexpected outburst from Tim had taken everyone by surprise, the whole room gasped in unison, the people looking amongst themselves with questioning gazes. It had to be a trick or a trap… the Kingpin's own top two lieutenants plotting his downfall? It didn't take long for the chatter and bickering to ensue as the gathered felt inclined to press further on the issue of a revolt against a man of myth ruling the city from the shadows.

"Aye, folk… you ever heard: don't bite the hand that feeds you?" A young, slim, yet muscular dark-skinned male rose from the bar, walking forward with a glass of liquor in one hand. On the streets he was best known as Lil' Head, though in truth he was Kenny's own blood. "Real shit, I know you paying us and shit but Kingpin is paying you two, so we work for the man you work for!" He attempted to be the voice of logic that that would deter this talk of revolt. Pierre spoke out of fear of the uncertain and unknown.

"Get the fuck out of here!" Tim exclaimed, throwing his right arm out and gesturing toward the door with his middle finger. "I take care of my damn self… What I look like curling up at the feet of some other nigga like a damn dog!? First bitch nigga identified, get out. Peace!"

"Hell naw, I'll go to the grave before I be a bitch nigga!" Pierre declared with brimming pride; he downed the content of his shot glass then tossed it aside and stepped up with both of his arms stretched outward, opening himself up for whatever might come from his defiance. "Come on, folk! You want to kill that nigga then let's do it. I'll cap his ass myself then go take a shit in his bathroom and not flush the toilet!" In his own twisted sense of humor he signed himself up as a street soldier in the revolt. He wouldn't be looked or spoken down upon. "Kenny, man. I'm in! I got whatever you need."

The Haitian man laughed to himself, babying a glass of vodka, either tipsy off his drink or off his rocker by the bold announcement of his two friends. He sat back comfortably, setting the gaming pad aside and soaking into this act of revolution. "Okay, I don't work for the dude… you two are my guys so I can fuck with you on this one. In plus…" His voice had fallen silent for a moment in which he exchanged strong gazes with the both of them. In his mind he was briefly taken back to their first encounter some years ago… and the pact they'd formed. He'd yet to see the fulfillment of it and was definitely more than willing to play a part in seeing them accomplish it if needed. "…you already know." Jason chose to leave it at that, believing some things need not be spoken when people understand each other.

A tall, dark, lanky male abandoned the counter to confront the two leading figures of the revolt. "If there's shoot outs, ass kicking and sexy women then you can count me in!" Terrell like Pierre belonged to Kenny's street clique. He was in a sense an old school gangster; he preferred stabbing people in the knee cap with ice picks, beating them with brass knuckles and giving them a curb job rather than just shooting a gun and being done with it. But all the same, he liked his gun fights too. Terrell was best known for his black market-like business deals and Mafioso demeanor.

A perky, high yellow female also stood up from the bar, raising her drink in the air. "Hell yeah! That just means I can expand if the Kingpin is out of the picture. I'm ready to ride for whatever, Tim. You know it!" She toasted with Pierre who returned for another alcoholic beverage. "First we gone pop shots, then we gone pop bottles!"

"Aight, good." A seemingly pleased Tim nodded to see that Kamilah was eager to laugh in the face of peril and danger. She was a member of his crew while running her own small operation which paid due to him rather than Kingpin. It was partly through his partnership with her that he began perceiving the downfall of one ruler and the rise of another. He wanted the money, power and respect for himself, not a ghost of a man that never touched an ounce of work.

Terrell shuffled through the pockets of his jeans, walking up to Kenny. "Check this out," he said while giving himself a cavity search until he was able to produce a small black business card with white text printed on it and a feminine crown hand drawn. "A hit woman; she's secretive, professional, local and affordable! She's known to take on jobs for more personal reasons than just money so maybe you can contact her and see what she's about." He handed the card over it.

A woman and discharging double-barrel shotgun: Lady Shotgun and on the back there was writing: Woof, woof, you're all my lil puppies. She was rumored to be a true femme fatale; the best kind of wine with sharpened instincts and predatory skills.

"This is by no means a walk in the park." There was a sense of ignorance Kenny felt floating around the room as these subordinates thought so little of the most influential man in the city. He breathed out a sigh… It was an almost impossible task. Even knowing the true identity of the Kingpin - a secret very few knew - there was no walking up and peeling his cap back. "We aren't the only resources this man has at his disposal, we're but a small branch of city-wide army of thugs, gangsters, hoodlums and killers. And probably a shit load of cops as well. How do you think we get away with half the shit we do?" He took a short stroll around the room, still bearing his firearm, tapping the tip of the barrel to his leg as he walked. "There's a plan in place. All of you who participate will have a role that you'll be expected to play to perfection. Do what we say how we say it."

Tim cut in saying, "When I tell you to do something, I want you to do it the way I see you doing it when I tell you!" He grinned, amusing himself as well as the others, but serious at the same time. It wasn't a joke. "I'll be choosing who takes on what jobs. So keep any opinion of what you think you're good at to yourselves. I ain't blowing any of your motherfuckers." He considered the first stage of the plan… and began deciding on who'd be most valuable in the effort to liberate a hefty amount of cash for operating expenses. There was a lot of potential amongst them. "There's a lot of you, so we got a nice selection for what will be a huge variety of assignments."

A few skills were missing though. Or perhaps it was just Kenny missing a person that once belonged to his team; an ex-girlfriend that was a smooth talker. She had the ability to con and swindle anybody with skillful word play, a deceivingly innocent smile, hearty laugh and gorgeous features. Up until a few years ago she'd been a vital piece in his successes. She grew tired of the games, the lifestyle though; matured and wanted better things. There hadn't been another like her sense. Even the vast gathering of individuals now failed to produce such a smooth operator like April. Then, of course there was the seductress, a role Rebecca played far too well. He simply refused to even think of informing her about the players on their team for risk of that information being leaked… undoubtedly, she was keeping secrets from him as well.

"What're we doing first?" Kamilah on her third glass of yager asked, eyes shifting between Tim and Kenny at their different positions, hoping one of them could supply her with an answer. She saw money in her future if she stuck out it with them and that was one of her favorite things in all of the world; it was what made the world go around, so the more of it, the more fun she'd have.

Tim, rather than answering, poured himself a drink to quench his thirst for some Mascoto. He emitted a slight chuckle then nodded his head toward his partner to direct her attention to the mask he was holding out. Saying he was pumped would be the understatement of the year. Tim needed this to happen in order to see his dreams come true, forget supplying the American Dream for some other nigga, he'd keep it for himself and distribute it to those he saw fit to be apart of it.

Kenny held on display a cartoon-ish, rubber mask of former President of the United States, Richard Nixon, his personal favorite. "We've got four weeks to figure out how to rob a bank," he informed those who'd been gathered with a degree of anxiousness, eagerness and pride in his voice. "and not get caught or killed!" He walked to the mini bar and took a glass off the table, holding it up to his partner and their companions in this endeavor to take a king off this throne and dismantle his organization just enough to place themselves at the helm of it. A toast was proposed. "Live long, laugh hard, die rich…" Though his slight altering of it didn't entirely mean the wealth in the form of currency. As he gave them all one last glance over, he meant to see all of them make it through this alive if he could… no amount of cash would make up for their loyalty.

Next Chapter: Dead Presidents


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter ?: Dead Presidents

In the early hours of the morning the citizens of the city flooded the downtown area as yet another business day began. The sun beamed brightly overhead casting a radiance that reflected off of the glass of the mammoth skyscrapers. A gentle wind swept through the streets tossing about loose debris and litter along the streets as people marched by the hundreds like mindless drones toward their destinations. The flow of traffic moving in all directions on both the sidewalk and road. The usual hustle and bustle of downtown made this just another day… until…

FRWHOOM! An explosion of titanic proportion rocked violently with a dark cloud of burning smoke pillaring into the air whilst a structure steel and concrete came crumbling downward, quaking the terrain. Suddenly the streets were filled with terror… denizens screaming, scrambling about under the influence of panic and fear at the carnage that unexpectedly erupted on this once tranquil morning. A massive shroud of thick dust blanketed the area limiting visibility and polluting the air.

An office building along the main street had burst into flames with hefty portion of structural damage; it's glass windows had all blown open with thick tufts of ember-laced smoke billowing outward. A raging inferno claimed the entirety of the building. The northeastern section of the complex collapsed under the tremendous force of the explosion, it's exposed interior burned and smoked.

The atmosphere had completely changed… In the distance the wail of sirens could be heard with flashing dozens of flashing lights signaling the approach of emergency vehicles, but the overly crowded streets would complicate any efforts by the city's finest to get on scene and bring the hell-blazing, half demolished complex under control.

Directly across the street from the scene of a crisis, the city's largest bank was currently under siege… It's alarm was blaring painfully loud.

"Everybody on the floor right fucking now!" A man in rugged, black spray painted janitorial jumpsuit stood on top of a desk, holding an assault rifle above his head and barking orders. "Drop your purses, bags, wallets… I want everything visible or I will shoot you without hesitation!" The armed robber slowly turned in a full circle to get a clear view of the people around him, seemingly satisfied with the cooperation. He gave a subtle nod of his head, strangely conceal… in a cartoon-like mask of former President Abraham Lincoln. He spoke with a gruff voice, obviously masking his own. He fired a single shot into the ceiling to further impose on his captured audience. "We're just making a withdrawal. Stay calm, all of you can go home…"

Three other armed assailants dressed in worn, beat-up jumpsuits moved along the cash counter urging the workers to follow their instructions obediently, aiming their semi-automatic weapons at the employees to ensure absolute authority. They all wore masks in a similar manner as Abraham Lincoln: George W. Bush, Michelle Obama and Bill Clinton!

The person masquerading as Michelle Obama was a woman totting a UMP .45 sub machinegun; she slammed her left hand on the countertop repeatedly, aiming the business end of the gun at the teller. "Bitch, I want the money! All of it… and none of those bull shit marked bills or I'll hunt your ass down and feed you every bullet this damn gun is holding!" She leaned over the counter and snatched the terrified, crying teller by the collar of her white button-up shirt. "Shut the fuck up and put the money on the counter!"

The bank teller trembled, her face twisted with fear… blue eyes glistening with tears. She sobbed and shook her head slowly as a testament to her understanding. She opened the drawer, nervously shuffling her hands through the different bills, gathering them all together. "Okay, please… don't hurt me…" She swallowed deeply, pinching her rose red lips together and trying to avoid eye contact with the First Lady.

Former President George W. Bush gripped a security guard by the neck and held a handgun against the left side of his temple. "Hey! You see this guy? You don't do exactly what I say… and he's completely fucked! I mean his brains in your face! Understand?" George W. Bush shot a heated look at the male bank teller, expecting him to follow through with his demands. "I'm the most gangster fucking President in history… the last thing you want to do is piss me off. So let's get a move on. I don't know how long I can contain myself… Poor…" He paused, glanced the nametag on the security office. "Marvin Spiel is it? Is just begging for me to put him out of his misery."

Lincoln hopped off of the desk and start walking over the bodies laying on the floor, patrolling and observing them. "…I don't want to hear shit 'bout nothing." He strafed the punishing end of his assault rifle over them as a warning. "How's the vault coming along?" The founding father turned toward the three relinquishing the tellers of their funds and got a waving confirmation that they were progressing smoothly. "We got less then five minutes to clean this place out and vacate," he exclaimed.

A voice emerged from deeper in the bank, where another robber escorted the manager and assistant manager to the gigantic, securely locked, heavily reinforced door of the vault. It's time-release lock had just snapped.

"Progressing," the robber called back. He wore the mask of former President Richard Nixon. He spoke with a mocking voice, attempting to sound like the person he was portraying. "Open it." He nudged the male manager with the barrel of his assault rifle and moved him to the digital input locking mechanism, glancing over it for himself, emitting a thoughtful hum. "I'll know if you fuck this up and I want you to know I'll kill all the people in here EXCEPT for you…" His voice had an aggressive, threatening tone. Nixon watched the manager press the proper sequence of buttons and the large vault door opened with an electronic hiss, revealing to Nixon a gorgeous payday. "Beautiful," he uttered quietly and turned his attention to the leading figures of the banking establishment. "All the bagged bills."

The deceased ex-President George Washington approached, tossing large, black duffel bags at the feet of the two managers. He escorted them in the safe. "Get to it!" He along with them began grabbing at all the clear, plastic bags of crisp, fresh bills and stacking them in the opening of the duffel bags. Washington caught one of the employees hesitating as he kneeled over a bag in the corner. "…there a problem?" He took a couple of steps over, stood in the immediate of the assistant manager, breathing intensely through his mask and staring into the beading eyes of the Caucasian man. "Hurry it up, faggot!" He backed up and let the man drop the pack of money into the bag, then locked eyes with Nixon whom nodded in acknowledgement.

"Time!" A voice called from the front area of the bank. "Minus two minutes, let's wrap this up people." There was a lot of communication between the group of robbers as they moved about with expertise coordination, performing the practiced duties of checking for rigged bags and marked bills, controlling the crowd of people they'd taken as hostages.

The First Lady walked briskly toward the front door with a zipped duffel bag hoisted over her left shoulder. She leaned to the door, peaked at the outside world through the glass. "It won't be too long before somebody thinks to investigate," she hollered. She breathed heavily. The woman thought to herself that this operation was rushed, that it backfire, but here she was holding a couple of hundred thousand dollars and moments away from making a great escape.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I, personally would like to thank you all for your cooperation. I'll be honest… this is our first robbery and we're hoping for some honest feedback… so please, submit all opinions in e-mail at 'Ohohyoumad gmail, please and thank you!" The crook donning the Washington mask had come up front carrying one of the two oversized duffel bags. He humored himself and his companions as they began gathering at the door getting ready to make their exit. "Yo, Dick! Bring yo ass!" He shouted back toward the vault area.

A university news van was parked around the corner a block and a half from where the explosion took place. Inside of it, a young, light-skinned male sat at a computer terminal, typing away fiercely, eyes sole concentrated on the screen and the streams of data it was presenting him with. He sucked in a deep breath, blinked his dark-colored eyes a couple of times and kept at it. "The silent alarm just went off… - scrambling it, but it won't last long." He spoke more so to himself, seeing the person up front behind the steering wheel was currently taking a phone call. The guy in the passenger seat was serving as the look out… primarily checking out the nice pieces of ass that wandered about.

"Don't worry, folk! They should be on they way out now," the driver responded in a nonchalant manner, not in the least concerned with the heist, but arguing with his girlfriend about why he hadn't come home last night. "Low key though… if them niggas ain't here in the next minute in the half, they gone be taking the damn bus with all that money!" He reached for the ignition, twisted it, started the news van and resumed his conversation.

The long-nosed President Nixon came forth with his duffel bag of cash, eyes traveling about the interior of the establishment. He thoughtfully drank in every visual detail to ensure things were as he'd planned. "One of these bastards tripped the silent alarm," he announced while walking to the middle of the floor and dropping his bag of money to equip himself with his M4A1 assault rifle. "…you think I wouldn't fucking know, bitches!?" He shouted at the top of his lungs and spun around, aiming at random people, wondering which of them was it. "Doesn't matter, your line's been blocked. We run this town now! Fuck you all… the police, that so-called 'Kingpin' everybody whispers about… This is ours!"

A mouthy, defiant man dressed in a business suit lifted his head from the floor, glanced toward the blathering President. "…you people want to live your life illegally and then look back at all the innocents you've wrong, crimes you've committed and think somebody owes you something! You're the kind of people that are choking the life out of this country!" He was a proud white American. He struggled with his restraints, climbing up to his knees and facing the mock President Nixon. "Just because you've had some hardships in life, that makes it okay to do what you want… even if it's illegal?" He challenged Nixon.

And the former President stepped forward, cranium tilted to one side, dark eyes staring through the slits of the mask. He snorted at the man, held the barrel of his rifle toward him. "Let me tell you something…" His voice was subtle and calm, he breathed quietly, pausing momentarily in his speech. "WHEN THE PRESIDENT DOES IT, IT ISN'T ILLEGAL!" He screamed in the man's face still utilizing the disgraced President's voice. Nixon growled, smashed his right knee into the man's chest to knock him over then backed away, retrieving his bag of cash.

Bush, Nixon, Michelle, Washington, Clinton and Lincoln unlocked the front door of the bank and quickly rushed into the thick gathering of bodies, losing themselves quite quickly. They'd everybody inside restrained, but it was only a matter of time before their decoy expired and the true nature of the incident was discovered. The group walked as fast as they could, using the chaos from the explosion as well as the congesting shroud as cover. Their masks, their weapons and their bags weren't heeded as the population was too caught up in what was suspected as an act of terror.

"Heads up," Nixon stated, eyes rolling up to catch a street lamp with a camera mounted at the top. It was facing the appropriate direction to get a detailed shot of them. He flipped it the middle finger, laughing to himself and jogged toward the university news van that was serving as their getaway vehicle; it was positioned perfectly in the blind spot of multiple cameras.

The bandits climbed in the back of the van, pulled the doors shut and all shouted commands at the driver to get the hunk of junk in motion. Its tires squealed as it jumped forward with its engine rumbling. It made a speedy exit from the scene of the crime!

The thieves and their accomplices shuffled about inside of the back of the van, setting the bags of money in the middle of the floor. Their atmosphere was thick with tension. None of them spoke a word; too shocked by their own success. Two weeks of planning had been executed beautifully… It was a major power play they all should have been proud of but each of them knew this was only the first step in making their move against the Kingpin and snatching the city from his clutches in order to gain a position of power themselves.

A little past five minutes into the drive, Nixon broke the silence as he leaned forward and unzipped his bag of money, reaching it, sorting through the plastic bundles until he came across one in particular… He eyed, thoughtful of that one bag. "This is the dummy bag," he identified, thinking back to the manager's brief hesitation when it came to loading that item into the duffel bag. "Perfect! This'll help us frame J's friends for the bank robbery," he sat back against the wall, looking at the Haitian accomplice who'd been overseeing their operation via his computer terminal.

"Cool," J responded, nodding his head a couple of times. The light-skinned male let his eyes drop to the laptop in his lap, currently displaying multiple viewpoints inside of the bank… the footage was minutes old though, the live feed lost when the van pulled off. He was their eagle eye while monitoring all lines of communication within the bank and eavesdropping on the law's communications. He breathed easier. J typed light, closing out the useless windows and severing his dummy and hacked connection to five different servers in the area… He was confident it'd be impossible to trace his infiltration. "It went without a hitch."

Michelle Obama laughed out loud, rubbed her hands together, looking at their money. "We set it off in that motherfucker," she exclaimed. "Whoooo!"

"C'mon, son!" George Washington's face was peeled from over the man's head, revealing the robber's true identity to be Tim. "Who fuckin' with us? Really? I'll wait…" He stroked his thumb across the thin line of his mustache and cocked his head up arrogantly. He lightly chuckled to himself. "We did this shit better than the fucking professionals with only two weeks of planning," he stated in a matter of fact tone of voice.

It'd been a month since the decision was made to relinquish Frank Benecio of his throne… and seeing the plan through its many stages would be a costly endeavor. Tim and Kenny assembled their crew and took them through the steps and roles of the bank robbery as it'd been drawn out by Kenny, while the other lieutenant chose the parts all of the team members would play.

The youngest of the bunch was the getaway driver, Pierre. He followed in the footsteps of his cousin. He was the go-to guy when it came to knowing what was happening on the streets anywhere in the city. He considered himself an expert in the field of petty theft and grand theft auto. "Aye, folks… real talk, I thought yall niggas was gone end up dead! Shit would be like the end of Set It Off when that one bitch was shot to death and that one song was playing… yo, that was hard as fuck, ya know!?"

The woman portraying Michelle Obama was actually Tim's home girl, Kamilah, she was a local drug handler that ran a small operation. She was most notoriously known for getting banned from nearly every club in the urban area. She had a reputation for violent behavior despite her joyful, seemingly innocent demeanor. She played the part well when in the company of strangers. But these guys knew who she really was. "Hell naw, failing wasn't an option!" She giggled, dropped her mask on the floor and breathed out a relaxing sigh.

The stolen university news van pooled into a spiraling parking structure, going as high as the fifth level before coming to a halt. The crooks all bailed out, grabbing bags of money and going two separate ways with it:

The first was a tailored, black-on-black four, 2010 BMW with a shining metal grill, side and rear spoilers, a retractable roof, two twin exhaust pipes just slightly sticking out the rear of the vehicle. It emitted an electronic beep, the drunk slowly lifted up and bags were being thrown in. This was Kenny's pampered car, fully customized by the best mechanic money could buy. It was built to sate his passion for amateur street racing. Through the front window writing could be seen on the dashboard, the car was branded: 'Leone Sentinel', by Jacob Leone, owner of one of the best car mod shop.

The other was a low-riding burgundy Range Rover belonging to Tim. It's sound system boomed to life upon remote activation. The truck started with a gentle rumble. It was loaded with the greater half of the looted money. Tim wasted no time climbing inside. "Aight, crew. That was good shit… we'll meet up tonight as the usual spot to count the money and prepare for our next move. Until then you all stay light." He pulled the door shut, backed out of the parking place and sped away from the gathering point.

Nixon confronted Pierre, placing a hand on his left shoulder. "That wasn't bad, kid." He complimented. "I want you to dump the van and torch it a couple of miles outside the city. Do it now, no stops, no bull shit." He urged, giving him a scolding look that made it known insolence wouldn't be tolerated. He saw Pierre off after Kamilah and Jason hopped out, heading their separate ways with waves and see you later.

The rest of the team divided, leaving just him… Richard Nixon… in disguise. The man walked to the driver's side door of the customized Sentinel, sliding inside and manning the steering wheel. He breathed out a deep sigh, leaning his head forward. He had to concentrate to let the tension flow out of his body now that the deed was done. After a few moments of silence he lifted his head and pulled the mask off…

His phone vibrated in one of the side pockets of the jumpsuit it, he pulled the EVO 4G out into the light, touching the interactive screen to bring up the text message he'd just received.

Rebecca: You catch the news? Bank just got done in at the same time as that building went up in flames. Frank thinks there might be a new player in town… It might be a good idea to lead him down that path. Good work. I always did love that brilliant mind of yours, you know.

Kenny: This is only the first stage of the plan. Tim is going to setup stage two in a couple of weeks. You better be doing your part… I'm not taking another damn bullet for you. Nobody can know what's truly happening until it's too late and everyone is taken off guard.

He set the smartphone down and started up the car, driving out of the parking structure and merging into southbound traffic to make his way home. He heard his phone vibrate again and chose to ignore it, expecting some witty comment from his ex. He kept his eyes on the road, his thoughts focused entirely on the hit the crew had successfully pulled off. Despite his best answers to dismiss the existence of his phone, his eyes slowly drifted to the passenger's seat, the lit up LED screen displayed a message…

April: Hey, how are you? Are you busy?


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter ?: Disturbing Natural Order

The silence of an empty apartment was disturbed by the soft jingle of keys, the fumbling of multiple locks and the opening of reinforced front door. An overhead light in the hallway gave the living room a dim illumination, caressing and outlining the shape of a large multi-leveled, black metal and glass entertainment stand with a mounted sixty inch flat screen LED HDTV of a brand name. It held various electronics emitting their own flickering lights of different colors and purposes. There was a long, black leather sofa in its own cozy corner of the living room and distanced not too far from it was a similar reclining chair. An office chair on wheels was in the middle of the floor directly in front of the entertainment system with a few different type of controllers in the seat…

One in particular, small in size with only a small selection of buttons was snatched up, aimed at the entertainment stand and at the press of a button it had all come life! A brilliant illumination flourished within the living room, further depicting the objects throughout: a small table decorated with handguns and simple house tools, a glossy hardwood floor, a wall-mounted rack of multi-colored strobe lights yet to be activated. There was a kitchen near the front door, it remained dark. A hallway going deeper into the apartment branched off into two bedrooms, an office and a full bathroom. And beyond that a walk out balcony that offered an excellent viewpoint of downtown.

It was home for Kenny, his tall, masculine figure walked to the sofa and dropped upon its plush cushion with all his weight, throwing his arms outward. Immediately, he felt a degree of comfort just to be within the sanctuary of his own home. The young man breathed a sigh of great relief, his mind and body still affected by the adrenaline rush of this mornings grand heist. He sucked his lips in and slid his tongue across the surface of them both before heaving out a deep breath. His dark eyes focused at the blank ceiling… but he was seeing hollow, still images that were burnt into his mind.

Tim under the guise of George Washington made the declaration of their robbery, he was shouting orders and steadying his aim on the most fragile looking person he could find; expectedly preying on the sympathy of others to ensure they cooperated. It worked wonderfully too.

Another frame slid through his mind: Kamilah had flanked the security guard; the sudden awareness that the bank was being robbed tore him from his rest. She punished his laziness by knocking him out cold with the butt of her sub machinegun to the back of his head. He fell like a sack of bricks, curled up on the floor. It was priceless…well, maybe not… the six hundred million, forty-four thousand and seven hundred they nabbed was a nice price label.

A smooth, masculine voice started singing at his hip while his cell phone vibrated: One In A Million, by Ne-Yo. The ringtone played for about ten seconds before Kenny removed the phone from its case and slid his thumb in a downward motion over the screen to accept the call. He lifted the phone to his ears and with new energy shot upward, kicking his left leg up over the arm of the couch.

"Good evening," he spoke softly, anxiously listening for the voice on the other end of the call to greet him and the moment he heard the accented, feminine voice a genuine smile pulled at his lips. His mind pondered how long it'd been since they last spoke… but he couldn't bring himself to care really if they were talking now.

Hundreds of miles away in a different state and quite possibly a different world, a youthful, dark-skinned, Jamaican beauty casually strolled along the edge of her bed, flicking a light switch to blanket her room in darkness. "Hey… what's up?" She responded, she herself smiling as he stood over the bed to wiggle her hips out of a pair of blue jeans until the article of clothing pooled around her ankles and she could step out of them, hooking the pants with her left foot and flinging them toward a clothes hamper. "How are you?" The young woman's crawled into her bed wearing just boy shorts and a white t-shirt with a local ball team logo on it. She slipped underneath the blankets and snuggled the pillow against her head, lifting her raven hair to avoid entanglement.

The bed seemed so much more comfortable as she laid there. It was his voice… she could almost close her eyes and feel his presence there. April smiled to herself, curled up to collect warmth under the sheets and blanket, while holding the Blackberry Torch to her ear. It was always a bittersweet sensation when she picked up the phone and called him. This time was no different, and she probably wouldn't have if it weren't for the fact that news of a bold bank robbery being staged in her hometown hadn't made the evening news where she lived.

"So… I know the last time we talked we didn't exactly close the conversation on the best of terms, but… ummm… Well, I wanted to check up on how you were doing," she spoke as eloquently as possible, choosing her words carefully to let him decipher what it was she was concerned about.

With his head falling forward, Kenny let a sigh escape through the thin parting of his lips, slowly shaking his head. "I'm fine," he responded. "You think I was involved in that job earlier, don't you?" He pulled his dangling leg from over the ledge of the couch and sat more properly, leaning forward with his face almost to his knees. It was disappointing that she'd only decided to call because of news of the robbery, but then he knew for certain he wouldn't be the only one left disappointed tonight.

April briefly stared into her plain pillow. There was a knot building up in her chest, she easily noticed his change in attitude. She'd grit her teeth a moment before pressing forward. "I would be happy to know that you didn't have anything to do with it. Honestly, Kenny." April rolled over onto her left side, looking away from the bed's vacant spot. She didn't want to think about him being there. It belonged to somebody else not matter how much he argued it. "Is that wrong?"

"Wishful thinking is never wrong," Kenny exclaimed. He'd hopped up from the couch and wandered into the dark kitchen, snatching a bottle of Jack Daniels from off a rack of assorted alcohols and liquors. He twisted off the top and brought the neck of the bottle to his lips, titling it and taking a quick swig of the dark liquor, instantly gasping as it burned while going down to the pit of his stomach. He couldn't control the urge to tremble, and leaned over the counter to hold steady. "It was our job."

"Frank's." April insisted on correcting him. Her voice carried a sharpness that could cut to the bone, evidently irritated by the direction of this conversation and they weren't even five minutes in yet. She sat up in her bed and scooted herself to the headboard, kicking away the covers in a frustrated manner. "Ughh! I can't believe you'd go THAT far!"

Standing in front of the counter with a shot glass in one hand and the bottle of Jack in the other… he stared straight ahead blankly, eyes narrowing as he felt a swell of anger in the core of his being. "No, this isn't about Frank! This was our job, our choice. A lot has changed and I don't expect you to understand or be interested in it." His voice was laced with frustration. Kenny discarded the shot glass in favor of downing the bottle and sleeping under its influence. He grabbed it by the neck and walked out of the kitchen, turning off the lights in the living room and wandering down the lengthy hallway until coming to his bedroom…

It wasn't beyond her to detect the defensive edge in his voice, she held back her first immediate response. April let his words sink in to try grasping a better understand of what she was oblivious too. The ex-girlfriend didn't want to be interested, but she feared for his life. Only after a few seconds of silence and staring into the darkness of her bedroom did she decide she wanted to know what he was getting into. "Tell me everything." It came out as more of an order than a request. April wanted to take it back but it was too late so she followed through. "What're you doing?"

A very arrogant and proud Kenny was brought to a halt by the tone of the woman's voice as it came through the phone. "You're no longer involved with me or my life. Remember? You left because you didn't want anything to do with it… so why so interested now?" He stood in the center of his bedroom which had nothing of the appeal his living room had or the rest of his house… it was simple, mostly bare save for his queen size bed, dressers, walk-in closet and small workstation in a corner with broken down firearms. He hadn't ever been interested in decorating… he let April handle it while she lived with him and Rebecca later. Since the both of them left, he did nothing to bring any personalization to the bedroom.

For April the conversation had quickly taken a turn for the worse and she fought back to urge to just hang up the phone and forget what that man was getting himself into… but she just sighed and submitted to her caring nature. "Obviously, I am still involved in your life if we are talking right now. I don't want to see you hurt or dead, Kenny. That's all." The Jamaican spoke more calmly, taking deep breaths and telling herself to focus on what mattered most. "I know you won't let me talk you out of whatever your affairs are so… just tell me so I know and can pray."

"….." At a loss of words, Kenny collapsed on his bed, sprawled out carelessly. His heart rated raced, but as his breathes eased, he found himself relaxing to this more soothing tone of voice April was taking with him. "Right," he stated quietly. His black eyes focused intently on the plain ceiling of his bedroom, he stretched his left arm up, hand open as if reaching for something though there was nothing there. In his mind he could see a transparent figure descending from the ceiling with a hand extended toward him. He so desperately wanted to stretch his arm that impossible distance to just feel the warmth and softness of her skin against his fingertips. "Tim has chosen to stage a coup de tat and kill Frank. I'm with him. It's long overdue. We've set a plan into motion that will rock this city to its very foundation… and change absolutely everything," Kenny, almost mesmerized said.

Their combined intellect led to the development of a very elaborate plan. And they had nearly every resource they needed to execute it with the exception of a large sum of funds. Hence the bank robbery. The rest would fall into place as needed.

"That's all I'm going to tell you… When we take control of the city I'll be sure to write the whole story for you. Probably make a great book, you know." He suggested with a hint of amusement. He chuckled to himself. "This faction that's separating from the kingpin's organization as ideas of its own. We're going to change the whole game around."

April clutched her left hand to her chest, barely breathing. She held a horrified expression on her face. "…you're what!?" The Jamaican woman found herself unable to digest what she was being told. "No! You'll all be killed!" She protested vigorously shaking her head. Now more than ever she wanted to be rid of the damn phone! But she was consumed by this piece of knowledge her ex-boyfriend was sharing. It pulled her in and now there was no backing out of wanting to know more information. "Why? How? You've always been loyal to Frank… what happened? He controls everything there! How can you possibly rebell against him?" The questions were endless, her thoughts were jumbled with panic. She knew that city and the kingpin's absolute rule of it.

That outstretched arm of his fell to the surface of the bed and Kenny turned his head to see nothing in his grasp… just emptiness. "He doesn't control everything," he established that fact with a firm tone. The sheet was balled in his fist as he tightened his left arm and clutched what he perceived to be the world in his hand. "And it is about time that was proven. We'll bring an end to his reign. A new regime will rise in the aftermath."

"An inner city war." April whispered. It was just her in the apartment, yet she felt compelled to speak as softly as possible at this point. "You'll take down his empire, erect your own and nothing will really change! What makes you two so different than him?" She challenged her ex without an ounce of hesitation. She demanded he tell her the factors that would make them better than Frank Benecio. Otherwise, in her opinion it was just a power struggle. "You and Tim think you are disturbing the natural order…- no! You're feeding into it!"

"A tragedy will accompany the great wave that is reformation," Kenny stated from his own philosophical stand point. His voice was rougher, he spoke with husk. The tension was swelling up inside of him as he felt inclined to defend what him and his partner stood for. He imagined seeing the frustration in that gorgeous face of hers…. He wanted to kiss her and tell her it all be okay afterwards. Their ideas would be justified. "You can't judge me." He claimed.

"No," April agreed but sought to argue. "You're all going to play the judge, jury and executioner! It's okay to kill whomever stands in the way of what you want, right!?" It was never good to get this particular Jamaican upset. She didn't pull punches… or at least learned not to after her previous affairs with Kenny. "Your going to carve a bloody crest in that city and that will be the mark of you and your friends!"

Kenny's resolve was an iron wall; it couldn't be moved nor broken. He stood strong in the face of her verbal assault. "We won't kill indiscriminately. I've never killed anyone who didn't deserve it…" Kenny would dispense his own brand of justice as long as he carried his tailored handgun. It had become so easy after that first time. The very gun that once put a hole in his shoulder was used to end the lives of more than dozen people. "I'm not a murderer," he defended the accusation with an edge to his voice. In the end it was only right he knew the sting of his own weapon. It made him more considerate on who he drew it on.

"And what about when you met Jason?" She found herself slipping back underneath the cover as the cold night started to affect her almost bare figure. April could still remember the night he came home devoid of emotion with blood splatters on his clothes and his pistol locked after every bullet had been shot off. She could see in his eyes how disconnected he was, Kenny was changed by something horrific. It was years ago but the young lady recalled it as clearly as yesterday. He killed a man… but never told her exactly what happened. "That was the first time you killed a person, I remember. Tell me about it… finally… drop that wall, Kenny. Did that guy deserve it too?"

Next Chapter: Blood In My Eye


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter ?: Blood In My Eye

A sickening sense of vertigo seemed to plague Kenny as he lay absolutely still on his back. His stare was dead; seeing into the darkness of his own heart as his mind began to rewind to a particular event that took place several years ago. It ultimately changed his life… though some argue it ultimately ruined his life. The beat of his heart could be felt reverberating all around as his world was consumed by an inky blackness. His heartbeat created ripples in the pool of darkness and slowly it began to dissolve, revealing both the time and place of this trip down memory lane.

A Few Years Ago,

It was midday, the sky was filled with thick, gray tufts of clouds. Chilly breezes had been sweeping the city; the wind whistling loudly, easily peeling the leaves off trees that were succumbing to the coming winter. The tree's branches were bare, swaying about hauntingly under the influence of the gusts. This was autumn for the city.

In the parking lot of Irving College Campus, a young African American male sat on the hood of a black, four-day BMW. He was light-skinned, tall and had long hair designed in braids each one tipped with black beads. In one hand he had a Political Science book and the other a razor flip phone which currently held his attention. His thumb moved across the keypad at a quick pace, typing text across the small screen. He momentarily paused, lifting his head to glance toward the main building as the bell rang high up in the tower signaling the end of classes for the day. "…let's go…" The youth uttered, weary of the days many lessons. It was time to make money.

The college's population poured outward through every orifice the building had to offer except windows and emergency exits. The masses were a mixed crowd of students, all equally loud as they sought the freedom that lay outside the walls of the learning institute. The massive movement quickly spread to the parking lot, the side walks and the streets.

The car was approached by another black male, similar light-skinned complexion, same height, though a more muscular build. He wore a black hooded sweater, Rocawear blue jeans and a pair of Timbaland boots. He walked up with both hands in the pockets of his sweater, a book bag strapped around his right shoulder. "What's good, son?" He inquired in his approach. He too had a look in his eye; it was a shining lust for green. "You ready to put in some work?"

"Of course," the male said, sliding off the hood of the car and landing on his feet with a bit of bounce as he stretched both arms above his head, emitting a loud yawn and rolling his head from one shoulder to the next. "My last class ended an hour ago. Shit… I been brushing up on a few subjects and waiting on you, nigga… Let's take your whip. My check engine light is on… and I don't feel like fucking with it right now," he exclaimed. The youth snatched his book off the car, tossed it through the passenger side door, then activated the automated lock and car alarm. He followed his companion to a burgundy Range Rover.

"Nigga out there trying to be Speed Racer, hah! Hell yeah your shit all fucked up!" The other male taunted in an amused manner. He took a pair of keys out his pocket and unlocked the driver side door, climbed into the Range and leaned across to the other side of the car to pop the lock on the other side. He started up the truck, but waited to pull off. He brought his mobile phone checking through the messages that had been sent while in class. "Kingpin has a job for us." He stated, assuming that his partner had received the same text message and probably confirmed their compliance. "Good. I got a breakfast, lunch and dinner date tomorrow… so you know I'm 'bout to be dropping paper all day! Also be in that pussy though."

Currently,

"Tim and I were just getting out of class. We were about to go check in with Frank to see what the job was." The darkness filling the undecorated room seemed to lost some of its substance, Kenny reopened his eyes, looking about the interior of his room easily able to identify what was around him after being in total darkness for several minutes. He remained on his back, listened to the silence on the other end of the phone. It was a bit shocking that after all this time she was finally demanding the facts of what happened that day so long ago.

April was a very content listener, though when the silence began to build she felt she had to urge the story further along. "Go on." She spoke softly. The woman knew this would be the only time she'd absolutely want to know the truth of what changed her ex and ultimately ruined their relationship. It wouldn't change anything… April just knew she'd either have sympathy or pity for him depending on the outcome of this tale.

At the woman's insistence, the story was resumed with the teller speaking in a calm, low voice. "As Tim was driving out of the lot he noticed two guys arguing; one was shouting at the other after a brick had been smashed through a car window. It looked like it was about to get serious so we decided to check it out… after all, this was becoming our territory."

A Few Years Ago,

One of the guys dashed across the parking lot with the other in tow. The second guy pulled a pistol out the back of his pants while chasing after the first, hollering and cussing, speaking both English and Spanish while verbalizing his frustration and threats. The short chase came to a stop in an alley around the corner from the campus.

"I recognize the guy who took off running." Kenny was interested enough that he'd actually flipped his phone shut while in the middle of typing up a text to his girlfriend. "He's in my IT class, I think…" He could only say for certain that it had something to do with computers. "I don't know who that other dude is." Nor did he really care, but as he looked at Tim to get his take on the manner he saw an expression that quickly changed his mind about the unknown. It was anger. It was spite.

"Let's go," Tim had driven around the corner and pulled up alongside the alley, getting out of the car. "I know that motherfucker!" Tim's equalizer for the situation was a M9 Beretta; he cocked the pistol and walked the length of the pavement with an intent to kill. He had a murderous hate in his eyes when staring at the backside of the unaware Mexican that held a schoolmate at gunpoint. He didn't care what their manner of business was; his just needed to be settled right here and right now.

"Aye, man! I did exactly what you asked me to do!" A tall and lanky light-skinned male argued with the Mexican; he held both of his hands out front in a defensive manner as if he could somehow deflect bullets. "Anything else is not my problem." His back was against a wall and a gun was at his forehead. He was sweating heavily and barely able to keep his breath. "I gave you the shipment details and the alarm codes so we should be good. What else you want!?"

The bilingual Mexican male said. "Fuck you, homes! My cousin Pablo was arrested this morning. You fucking snitched on us!" His thumb drew back the hammer of the pistol. He continued to spit racial remarks at his soon to be victim. "I'll make sure you never open that fucking mouth of yours again, punta!" He began to tighten his finger around the trigger when he heard a can being kicked behind him. He quickly turned himself about, gasping when seeing it was Tim that had walked up on him. "…another punta," he tried to sound brave and threatening, but his voice was shaking. He hadn't been expecting this encounter while out to avenge Pablo.

"What up, bitch!?" Tim held the gun toward the Mexican, placing an imaginary crosshair on his forehead. His lips curled into an angered frown, he cocked his head up arrogantly. "I said what up, bitch!? You ain't saying nothing now, eh? I finally found you, bitch ass nigga! Now you can't run… so you want to fight like a real man now or should I just kill you? Makes no difference to me. You getting done in."

Currently,

"My nigga wanted to fight him rather than just shoot him… apparently, he and some others had jumped one of his younger brothers for being black on the wrong side of town. But when his brother came back with him and some reinforcements they all scattered to the wind. Tim had been fuming on that shit for weeks," Kenny explained, clearly able to recall Tim's bitter temper the day he'd caught up to one of the spic bastards. "Of course, I'm sure that motherfucker thought his chances of fighting Tim hand-to-hand were better than risking a shoot out, so he dropped his gun to the ground and Tim did the same. The two of them squared off," Kenny told her, watching it play through his mind like a movie. He remembered every detail vividly; it wasn't every day he saw his comrade beat a man so ruthlessly.

"Mm-hmm. Why was he trying to kill Jason?" April felt inclined to ask. It was a missing part of the story and she wanted to know it from every involved perspective. She'd shifted in her bed so much, the covers were again discarded, she was sitting up, in the dark hugging a pillow close to her body while listening to the story of how her ex-boyfriend of three years claimed his first kill.

"I will get to that later," Kenny assured her, it was a bit early in the story for that. He kept at his mental movie, narrating for April. "Tim had probably beaten the poor bastard half to death. In sheer desperation he tackled Tim, wrestled the gun from him while they were on the ground…"

A Few Years Ago,

At that moment everything had come to a stand still… Tim was pinned underneath the Mexican whom held him at gunpoint. Kenny had drawn his customized handgun, holding it in both hands and slowly approaching with his aim fixed on the equipped Mexican. The fourth person watched in sheer confusion, he wanted to go for the weapon the Mexican discarded, but couldn't bring himself to move.

"Do it," The Mexican dared. His face was bruised, lips, mouth and nose bleeding heavily. One eye was swollen shut with a dark purple outline. "I'll kill this nigger…-" He gargled, his throat being clutched and squeezed by the person he was pinning. He clawed at Tim's face with his left hand in an attempt to defend himself from strangulation.

"Kenny, shoot!" Despite the fact his own gun threatened his life, he persisted, determined to choke the life out of the Mexican. He growled ferociously, grabbing the hand raking at his face and snapping the wrist seemingly effortlessly in his raging state. He heard the snap of bone followed by the bellows of the Mexican. "Fucking shoot him!"

He hesitated, staring. His heart rate had jumped up tenfold, beating so intensely he could feel it about to burst out of his chest. "…." His head was throbbing all of sudden with so much adrenaline pumping through his veins. Then, suddenly… the Mexican pulled the trigger, he gasped and…

Tch! A shot rang,

The Mexican rolled off of Tim, screaming me, clutching his left side where a bullet chipped one of his ribs. He cried out agonizingly loud. "Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you!" He lost possession of the gun, too overtaken by pain to even question why it hadn't let off when he pulled the trigger. The searing, burning pain wouldn't allow him to do anything but curse at his foes. "You won't get away with… Pablo kill all three of you puntas when he finds out about this!" The beaten and shot Mexican was crying and crawling toward his gun after seeing it not too far.

"Next time check the safety, bitch…" Tim was slowly sitting up, one hand lightly touching along the left side of his face; his skin burned where the man's fingernails carved paths. He winced from the pain, but he would live. As far the Mexican though… that wouldn't be the case. He began to reach for his gun to do the deed himself but stopped when Kenny's shadow passed over him and his partner had stalked the wounded Mexican to the gun that lay on the ground and the fourth person witnessing it all.

He kept hearing the pitched echo of that first gunshot while thinking about that single moment of hesitation; it could've resulted in the death of his best friend. The gun in his right hand felt like it weighed a ton all of a sudden but he carried with a determination that gave him strength. "…shut up," the angered male kicked the crawling Mexican in the side, using his foot to roll him over to his back. "This ends right now." His mind was shrouded by thoughts of how easily the situation could have gone horribly wrong. He should have been the first one to pull that trigger but a small ounce of fear struck him at that critical moment. Now, he was being fueled by rage aimed at himself and it all would be taken out on the Mexican.

He crouched over the fallen Mexican, grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled him upward so he could see into his eyes. "Fuck you, bitch made nigga!" He unloaded every round in the chamber and the clip into the Mexican's torso, maintaining eye contact as he pumped him full of bullets… Kenny wouldn't flinch, wouldn't look away. He stared as the life was drained from his eyes, as his face twisted in sheer agony and horror. He sucked in deep breathes, bringing his left hand to wipe a splatter of blood from his face, after releasing the corpse.

"…now you fucking shoot him." An irritated Tim walked up, dusting himself off and surveying the messy work of his partner. He couldn't say he was pleased but the bastard was dead. He ignored Kenny's fuck you retort. He sneered and set his sights on the remain factor which was the guy from the school that had been chased into the alley. "Who are you and what was all this about?"

Currently,

"Heh… They paid J to hack details of an incoming shipment of gaming consoles and get them the security codes to the GameStop store they'd robbed. But, since they had to first threaten J and then pay him for his cooperation, that one guy figured that when the cops came kicking down Pablo's door, J had snitched. In truth… the dumb asses were caught on the security camera. J told us he didn't want to be involved in their actions but knew he could only tell them no for so long. Everyone knew he was a genius programmer and code breaker." He was just about to the end of the story.

The fifth of Jack Daniels was down to less than half… he lay in the middle of the bed with the bottle in his left hand, a bit of its content having spilled onto the blanket. Yet, he didn't seem to really care. His eyes were glazed over. "I froze… I fucking froze!" He slurred just a little bit, while groaning. "I had to kill him after that! It was the only way to make up for my hesitation. The next time… the gun being pointed at one of my friends or crew wouldn't be on safety. I had to break that hesitation so it'd never happen again." His lack of initiative almost killed his fellow lieutenant. "I knew I wouldn't be so lucky a second time," he exclaimed in a defensive manner as though his actions were justified.

"You can't blame yourself for that." April felt her caring, nurturing nature getting the best of her; she so badly wanted to be close enough to hold him and offer him some means of closure. The Jamaican female could understand his sense of loyalty to his best friend. The urgency to eliminate the threat, even if it went from ten to a zero; a threat needed to be dealt with. She sighed quietly, continued to snuggle with her pillow. "I can't say what you did is okay, but… at the same time I know why you did it. In the end I guess it's what you believe in your soul and God's final judgment that matter most. Not mine."

A Few Years Ago,

"All you can do is you can trust me…" Jason was once again on the business end of a gun, this time held by Kenny while Tim interrogated him. "I want less to do with you two than I did with that other dude," he insisted, quite aware of whom the duo were and what they were best known for. His eyes shifted between the two; Kenny was very unstable at the moment so he was sure his best chances of negotiating a truce of some sort was with Tim whom while very frustrated, hadn't killed anybody… yet. "I'm just trying to get through the day. I appreciate you guys helping me out… if you even stepped in for that! I don't care."

"We didn't," Tim interjected, eyes briefly straying to the corpse at Jason's feet. He rolled his eyes at the so-called code breaker, mildly impressed by his boldness. He couldn't bring himself to form an opinion while so angry. "Let's go for a short ride and talk." He turned to Kenny, raised his hand to the gun and lowered it. "One dead body is enough."

In Tim's vehicle the three discussed the situation that transpired, Jason was in the back seat while Tim drove and Kenny sat across from him.

"In my eyes you're both worse," Jason was explaining why he held less regard for the two he was in the car with than the guy they left for dead back in the alley. He wouldn't bite his tongue even after witnesses one of them kill a man. "Your drug dealers, contributing to all the bull shit that's suffocating the city and poisoning the people." His voice was laced with anger, his face reddening as he went onward without breaking off.

Tim for the fourth time had to interrupt J. "We're aren't drug dealers, so stop saying it." His position on the totem pole was for above some street runner and peddler. "Call me that one more time and I will kill you." His voice carried a certain degree of assurance. He stared at Jason through the rearview mirror for a brief moment.

"Okay, still… you are just as responsible. Let me tell you something. There's this African girl in one of my classes; she's beautiful and brilliant. I've known her for years. I don't know how but she's addicted to heroine. I think she went to a party and got caught up in some shit… and it's like watching a magnificent, rare rose wither right now. You're responsible for that!" Jason expressed passion, accusing the two of being the ones injecting that lethal toxin into the girl's veins. "…it's only a matter of time before she's completely sprung on that crap and she's reduced from an educated, well-mannered woman into a drugged-addicted whore. So… if you're so different, tell me what you're going to do about it!"

Kenny pondered this demand Jason had issued, he met Tim's gaze to see he too was forced to think about what the results of their actions. It was a part of their job that was well known but rarely spoken of. "…I'm not a florist, but I'd be willing to kill a few weeds so your flower can grow. There's only one place on this side of the city where heroine is sold… let's go talk to them about your girlfriend."

"She's not my girlfriend," Jason cut in, leaning forward in between the two front seats, a bit shocked by the action they were willing to take on his behalf… or perhaps just to establish their own identities and be more than many others.

"…and we're not drug dealers," Kenny retorted sarcastically.

Currently,

"It turned out that the heroine wasn't ours, so we shut the whole operation down. Jason confronted the girl about her addiction and helped her get into rehab. Tim and myself had proven to J that we weren't beyond trying to protect the few things of beauty that lingered in this decaying city. Yes, we were responsible. So, J appointed himself as our conscience." Kenny concluded the story of the fateful encounter that opened his eyes to the truth and the ugliness of the world. "I came home to you that night scarred by what happened. It was years ago, but killing that guy revealed the path I'd walk… and at the same time… I think Tim had his own epiphany after hearing what J had to say. Mine was shotgun diplomacy, his was the highest position of power one could rule from." He paused, listening to the soft breathing in the phone, he could tell she'd fallen asleep before hearing the end of the story. A smile pulled at his lips.

"Good night, my love…" Kenny hung up the phone, checked his empty bottle of Jack Daniels, and chuckled to himself. "My story put her to sleep before I could pass out from the liquor." The empty bottle was tossed to the floor, he curled to a pillow at the head of the bed and succumb to the darkness of sleep. The past meant nothing at this point, only the future mattered… And in a few days Tim would be executing stage two of their plan.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter ?: Domino Effect Part 1

Righteous Kill

The hour of twilight, it was the fading glow of the sun that allowed the night to steadily ease in and an overcast. The thick, dark, tufts of clouds rolled in quickly but not quietly; a rumbling could be heard amongst the heavens while atmospheric lightning illuminated the mass of the clouds. The scent of precipitation laced the wind…

"Looks like we're in for a bad storm tonight," a bearded, Caucasian male walked out onto his creaking wooden porch, leaning against a beam and glancing skyward, a frown coming upon his slightly wrinkled face. He grunted, rolled his head to the side and set his weary eyes on the gorgeous, scantly clad woman walking out of the house behind him. "You aren't exactly dressed for the weather so try not to be out when it hits," he suggested with good intentions. The woman was one of his best customers and the wife of his benefactor. "Okay, Becki?"

"Yes, yes." She uttered, British accent strong. Becki walked by the gentleman with a sensual strut, heels clicking upon the wood with a dull sound. "I don't plan to be out long," she assured him and started down the steps, offering a farewell wave with her left hand while hooking her right through the straps of her purse. Once she hit the pavement she set her sights on the black Gran Coup parked along the curb and instantly her glossed lips curled into a grin. "Now there's a beauty I never tire seeing." She mused to herself, approaching the car and having the door opened for her from the inside. She adjusted her thigh-length dress before slipping into the passenger seat. "Hello, boo." She cooed lovingly.

He sat with his left hand on the steer wheel and his left rubbing his chin, slightly itching from shallow gruff of facial hair growing back. Kenny leaned comfortably into the leather cushioning of his seat, turning toward the female as she entered, his first glimpse of her being those creamy, slender legs completely bare between her ankles and thighs. He couldn't help but admire until she'd situated herself, placing her purse on the dashboard over the inscribed lettering: Leone Sentinel. Then, slowly his eyes traveled up the rest of her body, openly taking in every bit of her visual until their gazes met. "You look good," he complimented with a wry smirk. His right hand fell to the automatic stick and shifted the vehicle into the drive while his foot pressed down on the gas.

In the growing darkness the black on black BMW was a phantom car, almost invisible when the headlights were turned off. It sped along the highway, engine purring softly even at 80 mph. The car was heading out of the city toward a suburban town that rested on the borderline of Kingpin's territory, yet it was still influenced by the same elements that corrupted the city: drugs, money, sex and alcohol. Its population was at the mercy of Becki's husband and small band of gangs operating and selling on their own.

"If you die… you should really leave me your car." A soft chuckle emerged from Becki, whom was fascinated with not just any car but this one in particular. She loved the leather interior, the digital everything - radio, alarm, electronic starter - the engine, neon glow underneath, all the details down to the strawberry scent. "I'd take good care of it." In her mind she recalled way back when her boyfriend at the time was getting most of the customizations done to it. She had enjoyed driving it because his car was a symbol on the streets that everybody recognized. It was the respect and intimidation that she loved most.

"Second time you've asked me that now," Kenny replied dryly, head lolling to the back as he blinked his eyes quickly a few times and breathed out a heavy sigh. "…and the stipulations haven't changed." As he breathed in he noticed the mixed scents tickling his sense of smell, it was her perfume blended with his car scent. He found himself favoring her perfume a bit more. He teased himself with a quick glimpse of her toying with her phone but quickly stabilized his view on the road. Out the corner of his eye though he saw her grin and knew he'd been caught.

Becki decided she wanted to recite that stipulation out loud. "I'd have to give you a son who you'd want to inherit it." She suddenly lost interest in her cell phone, ditching it in the glove compartment and scooting closer to the driver. "Well, we both know that won't be happening. Anything else?" She teased, emitting a purr in his ear, flicking the tip of her tongue across the lobe.

In protest of what she was attempting, he turned away, though it wasn't without hesitation. "I'm driving." He felt he needed to remind her, shifting the car into a higher gear, hearing the engine's sound strengthen as the car's speed picked up. His left hand clutched the steering wheel sturdily tighter as Rebecca pried his right from the shift and applied it to her body. Kenny kept himself focused on the road, swerving through the little bit of traffic.

"You can do this with your eyes closed," the woman claimed and with the intent of proving it she detached her seat belt, hiked her dress up and eased herself over the gear in order to straddle him, draping her arms over his shoulders and shoving her bosom into his face. "Or while we..." Rebecca grasped his face with both hands and held him still while she assaulted his mouth and purposely blocked his view of the road. In the midst of a lustful French kiss she mumbled, "You wouldn't wreck this car if my life demanded of it, would you?"

"This cannot happen," Kenny put half an effort into resisting, partly kissing her, then trying to shrug her off his lap. He couldn't help the influence steadily threatening to take him over. He wanted her. Bad. Acknowledging the sweet taste that lingered on her lips only made harder to deny that want while she was successfully flaunting the degree of influence she had. He tilted his head to the left to glimpse beyond the woman, taking in the road. It was whispered for him to go faster. He accelerated the car, continuing to engage her in that heated game of tongues while speeding the car for the final stretch of the highway before the exit came.

In the limits of the suburb town the Leone Sentinel came to a halt alongside a resting spot for truckers. It's headlights died with the sound of the engine and the couple exited, the female fixing herself properly while in public and the man was twisting a silencer onto his favorite handgun. It was time for the kind of business that went down after the suits and ties punched out for the day and the night life came into effect.

More-so dressed for the occasion, Kenny pulled a ski mask out the back pocket of his jeans and pulled a black hooded sweater over his head while crossing a street and directing Rebecca toward the house of interest; the partially closed curtains of the front windows showed there to be activity in the house, multi-colors lights constantly flashing. It was most likely a television. He slid his hands into black leather gloves. "You know what to do. This shouldn't take too long." He separated from his ex, disappearing beyond in the still darkness somewhere beyond the house.

Becki wore a form-fitting black dress that fluttered outward along her thighs, it left her arms and shoulders bare with its thin straps and exposed much of her cleavage. She puckered her lips and reapplied her shimmering, pink gloss and then made her way across the street, the clicking of her black heels against the asphalt the only noise in the night. "He better not get blood on!" The woman swore to herself while walking up on the targeted house. There was a small portion of cash in her pursue along with a small .22 caliber pistol and some mace. She brushed her manicured fingertips over the firearm hoping it wouldn't be needed. At the front door she rang the doorbell, let her eyes wander toward the window, seeing a silhouette move behind the curtains. "Hi!" She chirped gleefully as a hulk of a man appeared in the doorway.

He was a big guy with sloppy black hair, an untrimmed face, yellow teeth, breath bad enough to corrode human flesh on contact. "Yo, babe." He wore a stained white tee that failed to contain his bulging gut and a pair of worn, faded blue jeans sagging from his waist. He posted up in the door way analyzing his visitor, quite pleased with what had come to him this evening. "You need something?" The redneck asked, grinning at her and in not so subtle head gesture suggested it was between his legs.

"Blow." Becki put it simply, rolling her eyes in disgust, her lips forming a frown as she eased back in an attempt to escape the man's foul reek, she swore she could see the horribly funk flowing from him. "And nothing else…" She rose to the tip of her heels and tried to glance past the fat, smelly wanker after hearing something of a commotion toward the back of the house, she noticed the host also showing interest in it. "But! Maybe…" She had to think quickly, she pinched her lips together and before even sure of what she was thinking, she put a hand on his stomach. "…we can discuss a discount of some sort?" Becki shivered, feeling ill suddenly.

The man beamed a smile, backing his hefty self out of the door. "A couple of things come to mind." In a display of his willingness to comply he welcomed her into his private sanctuary. "We're doing lines right now… so I can give you a sample." He grabbed the waistband of his pants as it began to fall below his ass crack and pulled it up while leading the woman to a glass table covered with narcotics. The man plopped down on a dusty, beat up brown love seat. "Hey! You motherfucking bastards better not be breaking my shit!" He hollered at the other two he expected to be in the back of the house. "Dale? Bob?" He groaned, leaned to the arm of the couch and used it as support to lift himself up. "Damn retards," he grumbled and then looked at his beautiful guest. "Um, let me see what the hell is going on in the back. Then we can talk about what you can do for me…-"

"Or what you can do for me!" A figure in all black emerged from the kitchen with a silenced .45 aimed at the fat redneck. He stepped wide around the couch, maintaining a steady aim on the home owner whom seemed not too surprised by the intrusion. "On the fucking floor you fat piece of white trash." He shouted and pulled back the hammer while raising the barrel to the Caucasian's cranium to better demand his obedience. "I hear you and your fuck buddies like drugging up little girls and having your way with them… Well, It's good to see you like grown women too but she's off limits, so if that simple mind of yours even thinks about her for half a second I'll put a bullet through it!" His voice held enough anger to ensure that message was understood.

Prior to meeting up with Rebecca, Jason had called Kenny about the information collected on the targets, all three were convicted felons belonging to the faction of white supremacist that were running operations in the town and surrounding areas save for the city and Kingpin's known grounds. One had raped his younger cousin of thirteen years, another had a bad habit of beating prostitutes during sex and the one currently with a gun to his head was just as his captor addressed him…

There was some noise in the back of the house… Becki and the masked assailant both directed their attention that way. All the while, Archie whom sat on his knees had leaned forward and stuck his hands under the skirt of the couch blindly feeling about until he'd felt a cold, metal object.

"Suck on this, you nigger!" Archie's obese body collapsed and he rolled on his side toward the masked man with a surprise in the form of a Spas-12 shotgun. He gave it a firm pump, then squeezed the trigger, barely able to hold it steady. The explosive discharge of the weapon caused him to tip over onto his back… jerking the shotgun in the process.

The masked man had thrown himself from the side of the couch to the rear at the sight of the pump-action shotgun. He cursed, scrambling to get to his feet after hitting his head on the corner of the couch. He could hear the fat man half talking, half spitting and peaked over the couch to see him attempting to regain himself. The shotgun was pumped a second time and aimed… He wouldn't dare challenge it with his .45 and thought of retreating into the kitchen. In a second that could've lasted a life time he stared into the eyes of the opposing male… and he could see his guilt, his hatred and his disgust for the things he didn't like or understand.

A shot was fired… and it wasn't from the masked intruder's handgun or the redneck's shotgun. The redneck screamed at the top of his lungs until he was wheezing, losing his hold on his high-powered firearm. He stayed on his back with a hand over his stomach covering the gunshot wound that had blood further staining his messy white tee shirt.

Rebecca stood nearby with her small, silver .22 in her hands, the tip of it sizzling from the discharge. She had a startled expression, staring wide-eyed at the fat slob of a man. "…I didn't know what else to do." She briefly exchanged glances with the masked assailant and then discovered he wasn't alone, a second had come from the kitchen with two black garbage bags being drug behind him.

"What the fuck, folk! It take all this to kill one ugly, fat, smelly white guy?" The second intruder shook his head in what could only be disapproval. "…come on! I got the shit and the money, folk. We need to get the fuck out of here before 5-0 show up… Damn, did that motherfucker fart? He smell like shit for real. I thought white people only smelling like bologna was bad enough!"

The first home invader stood over the subdued racist, aiming and firing a single round into his forehead, watching as his eyes rolled into the back of his head as the bullet ripped through his brain as promised. Rebecca shot him, undoubtedly he'd conjured some form of thought about her and so the punishment was issued… and if he didn't, fuck it. He was a child molester who was deserving amongst the scum of humanity. "Rebecca, throw some of the cocaine on the table and floor…" He stared at the corpse without an ounce of pity.

_Humans seek to defend their actions in the name of truth, the act of fighting is within itself a true act. _

Or so, he believed and while his victim had believed himself to be justified despite his perversities, so did the man who took his life. He told April he wouldn't kill any person unless they deserved it and this one was definitely a righteous kill. It wasn't to be an anti-hero or some religious crusade. It was merely a truth that he accepted after that first kill; some people had a bloody, painful death coming.

The British, Caucasian woman as told littered the living room with the pure cocaine she'd acquired upon her ex-lover's request. A thought lingered in her mind to help herself to a bit of it. It was the premium kind sold to the upper society. While she didn't know his whole plan, it was obvious that he was using this scene of three homicides here to setup Team B, two of Frank's luietenants that claimed the better half of the city while Tim and Kenny ran their respective turfs in the crime kingpin's name. She locked eyes with him momentarily. "You're framing Dusty and Brendon as traitors by leaving a trail of their cocaine here, and then you're going to use these guy's blow for another setup in the city to make it seem like they're moving in on our territory…" She figured out one piece of the puzzle, but knowing Kenny and Tim, it wasn't enough to put together their grand scheme. "What the fuck is Diggs doing then and when were you going to tell me about Pierre being involved!?"

"I don't trust you," Kenny stated while kneeling beside the dead body of Archie and taking possession of his Spas-12. "That's all you need to know." He left out of the back door behind Rebecca and Pierre, rushing to the alley just beyond the backyward where Pierre's stolen vehicle was parked and loaded with the loot they'd hit the house for. He checked his watch, noting he had three hours to meet up with Tim. It was just about time for him to begin his part of tonight's operation that would pour fuel on a very combustible situation. "Alright, Pierre. We'll join up later to for the second phase."

"Hell yeah. Let me get the fuck out of here… fucking with yall is like asking for trouble!" Pierre humored himself, then got behind the wheel of his jacked Wrangler and drove away.

Kenny and Rebecca returned to the Leone Sentinel, she had to meet with her entourage before her husband discovered she wasn't where she said she'd be and Kenny had a special delivery for his partner.


End file.
